it'll be over and i'll still be asking when
by JustGail
Summary: Seven years after the Second Wizarding War Harry Potter went into Kingsley Shacklebolt's office on a hot, dry July day and quit./Eight years after the Second Wizarding War, Draco Malfoy decided enough was enough and visited an owlery. or: Hogwarts teacher AU. EWE. M rated for cursing, sexual-adjacent content, and use of drugs and alcohol.
1. Prologue

A bit of a note before we begin.

I first posted about this fic in September 2017 on my blog ( queerastronauts on tumblr). I have not been working on it that much, to be honest, mostly a paragraph here or there, but I wrote a chapter and a half over the last 24 hours more or less and I figure the only way I'll finish this is if I have motivation (such as, for example, public expectation). Besides, Of Three Times is all out now, and I don't have that making me feel guilty for working on another project. I am, however, posting this during my first week of university, so who the fuck knows what'll happen.

Anything I considered canon in OTT is considered canon here; I do not consider everything JKR releases post-book to be canonical but I do consult non-books material for continuity, dates, names, etc. That does not mean that OTT is at all relevant here, but I did work on it for four and a half years, so maybe give it a read.

Title is from the song When, by dodie.

* * *

Prologue

Seven years after the Second Wizarding War, six years after becoming an Auror, three years after amicably ending his relationship with Ginny Weasley in a small Muggle café in London, Harry Potter went into Kingsley Shacklebolt's office on a hot, dry July day and quit.

The news spread throughout the ministry like wildfire, and by next morning it was in the papers: _Harry Potter Accepts Teaching Job at Hogwarts_.

The news, it seemed, came as a surprise to everybody in the entire Wizarding world. Meanwhile, none of his close friends could be reached for comment – no Weasleys, Granger-Weasleys, Longbottoms, or Lovegoods were seen in public, in fact, for the next three weeks. Luna Lovegood seemed to have left the country; Ginny Weasley's Quidditch team, Holyhead Harpies, had a scheduled break from the season; Neville had started teaching at Hogwarts the previous year, and was currently enjoying a vacation out of the public eye with his fiancé, Hannah Abbott; and both Ron and Hermione had taken several weeks off from their Ministry jobs to go to Greece. It seemed as if every member of Dumbledore's Army, every person in Harry Potter's confidence, had vanished at once.

And then, once the Daily Prophet and the wizarding world had largely calmed down about the news, they all came back, and the school year was two weeks away. Then those two weeks past, and Harry Potter had his second first day at Hogwarts.

"Home at last," he told Ginny over drinks one night.

And, not unexpectedly, he turned out to be a really good teacher. He enjoyed teaching. And the students liked his classes, which were clearly inspired by those of one Remus J. Lupin. He was charismatic, and he had _stories_. Harry had never, not once, told a single detail of his life's story to any reporter, but he gladly shared with his students. And not just big things, either, like the DA, or defeating the Basilisk; no, he told them of little things, too, which they shared among themselves like little pieces of gold.

"I accepted my first duel," he told a group of first year Hufflepuffs once, "when I was your age."

And to a group of third years: "I learned how to use a Patronus when I was in the third year, instead of going out to Hogsmeade."

He even managed to get half-through telling the story of breaking into Umbridge's office to a fifth year Slytherin before he realized that perhaps that it wasn't very _educational_.

And true, at first there were a couple of stumbles. He got halfway through a lecture and realized he'd forgotten where he was going, or had been unable to properly discipline a classroom. But if there was one thing Harry Potter was good at, it was in building trust. And by the end of that first year, nobody could imagine Hogwarts without him.

* * *

Eight years after the Second Wizarding War, seven years after being acquitted of all charges, four years after moving out of his parents' mansion in Wiltshire, Draco Malfoy decided enough was enough and visited an owlery.

His letter to one Minerva McGonagall was answered promptly, and over the next month they corresponded regularly. At the end of that long May she confirmed that Slughorn was, in fact, retiring that year, and that the position was his, should he want it.

In July, a column was written about him. It was printed on page 7 of the Daily Prophet, consisted mostly of details of his trial, and mentioned his new position once in the very last paragraph.

No fanfare. Nobody reached to any of Draco's friends for comment. True, many of them were either dead or imprisoned, but Draco Malfoy knew that the real reason was that they were all ex-Death Eaters, and they had lost, and so no one wanted their opinion anyway.

He didn't mind that nobody cared about him being appointed new Potions Master at 26. All he wanted was to get out of the apartment he'd leased four years ago and had barely left since.

* * *

 **September 1st, 2006**

Harry needed to stop looking at him. Right now.

It wasn't as if he hadn't known he'd be there. He'd received a note from McGonagall – um, _Minerva_ – the moment she thought of hiring him, to make sure it wouldn't be a problem. She, of course, meant to make sure he wouldn't hex Malfoy on sight. He assured her it would be fine, and at the time he meant it, but still, he couldn't help but be suspicious. More habit than any real, logical reasoning, he reminded himself.

He hadn't seen that white-blond hair, that pointy chin, nor those clear eyes since he testified at the trial.

Hermione and him both testified for the defense, something that Harry would've never pictured himself doing until he did.

Damn it, he was staring again.

He also hadn't regretted testifying in Malfoy's defense until now, when he was sitting at the same table as him and forced to relive every single time he and Malfoy interacted. Every painful and embarrassing and shameful moment of their schoolyard rivalry.

Perhaps it was all for the best. That rivalry won The War, in a way.

But still, the blood in the bathroom flashed before his eyes.

Perhaps he should stay away from Malfoy.

* * *

Getting through dinner was a nightmare.

He hadn't been around this many people in years, and it made him nervous. He was startled when Professor McGonagall introduced him. He was sat at the end of the table, thank God, but he was unfamiliar with the middle-aged Transfiguration teacher sitting by him, and she would not _stop_ asking questions.

And he could feel Potter's eyes burning a hole into the side of his head, which made it very difficult to eat.

He knew what he was doing when he applied to the position. He knew he could teach this class. He also knew that Potter would be there, every day, sitting at the same table as him. It was unavoidable, and he would simply have to confront his own anxiety head on.

He wanted to get through this, so he would.

Perhaps, with time, it'll get easier. For now, all he had was resilience and power of will, and, well. He was a Slytherin. He knew how to persevere.

* * *

 **September 4th, 2006**

"Hello! Yes, you in the back, Pince, I see you. Just because you're related to our late Librarian doesn't mean you don't have to learn like the rest of the class, so sit down.

"Thank you. Since this is the first lesson of the year, I'd like to talk a little about what to expect from this year.

"You are third year students, which means we're going to focus on magical creatures. Not Care of Magical Creatures, Professor Hagrid knows much more about that than I do. Instead, we're going to discover how to escape and fight hostile magical creatures, hopefully without damaging them unnecessarily. I'm going to start by discussing the Blast-Ended Skrewt, a truly horrific creature I was introduced to around – "

* * *

"Welcome to Potions class.

"The first time I was introduced to this class, I was being taught by the late Severus Snape. He promised us that if we only listened, we could learn 'how to bottle fame, brew glory, even stopper death' – and I promise you, that's an exact quote. Professor Snape was a truly unique man.

" _I_ , however, will not teach you how to bottle fame, brew glory, prevent death. At least not at this moment, and for most of you, not ever. At this point, most of you can barely lift a wand, let alone tell the difference between a kidney stone or a proper bezoar. And _that_ is what I'll be teaching you today. We will go through the many different ingredients in your potions kit, studying the different magical properties they possess – "

* * *

"We will not be dealing with actual Blast-Ended Skrewts, thank Merlin, because it is _highly_ illegal to even own one, let alone breed them. At least, I hope so. However, we will start with a very special surprise, something I faced my first lesson of Defense in third year, and I ask that you keep it a secret from the younger kids. This worked relatively well with the current fourth years, and I'm hoping you can keep this new tradition alive. Now, if you'll form a line in front of the cupboard you see to your left, I'll clear the chairs – "

* * *

"Unicorn hair has a variety of uses, mostly relating to healing, but mostly in extremely difficult potions which will not be studied in this classroom until N.E.W.T. levels. Aconite – also known as wolfsbane and monkshood – is poisonous, but its root is fairly useful in a variety of potions, including the Awakening Potion. Snake fangs – "

* * *

"Congratulations, Pince, I knew you could actually achieve something if you put your mind to it. Excellent Riddikulus. Well, thank you for your time, and I'll see you all on Thursday, when you'll be receiving your first homework assignment, which I'm sure you all _can't wait_ to receive. Dismissed!"

* * *

"For next class, I'd like a roll of parchment discussing any of the ingredients I mentioned. Choose one, then write about its usage throughout Wizarding history. Feel free to spend two or three lines summarizing rather than adding more information. Dismissed."

* * *

 **September 8th, 2006**

One week had passed, and both of them had managed not to kill each other yet. In Harry's opinion, that was the best it was going to get. He was more than fine with it. Well, he was slightly more than fine with it. More accurately, it was a passable experience.

The problem was that they saw each other _all the time_. It was inescapable.

True, they now had their own rooms and offices into which they could retreat should they please, but their circle of peers was now rather smaller, and they had to – quote, unquote – _share_ their potential friends. There was no Slytherin or Gryffindor common room, only the staff room, which hadn't changed a smidge since the first time he had visited it in 1993, as far as Harry could tell. There was only one table shared by all teachers. So much sharing, Harry thought bitterly, they might as well be Hufflepuffs, only to immediately think of Professor Sprout and feel exceedingly guilty. He sometimes found it hard to get over old biases, even ones he never truly believed.

* * *

And so it went.

* * *

 **A/N:** I decided I was going to write this fic after seeing a dramione fic with a similar concept (which I never actually read), which I thought this would work much better as a drarry fic. For one, I could never see Hermione as a teacher. There's both a reason that she had Harry teach the DA, and a reason that AO3 has an entire tag dedicated to "Teacher Harry Potter". In addition, I thought putting Draco and Harry as adults in Hogwarts would be the best place for them to reexamine their relationship. I'm a big fan of parallels. I also wanted to try my hand at writing another longfic - and _not_ taking four and a half years to finish it this time. I've managed to complete most of my multi-chaptered works over the years, but it took 107k words for James and Lily to kiss in OTT, and I want to see a little bit more of the relationship in this slow burn. So here's what you can expect from this one: retrospection; atonement; slow burn; relationship development; and, if the past is at all an indicator of my writing style, lots of time jumps and dialogue.

Wish me luck, and meanwhile, sit back and enjoy the ride,

JustGail


	2. Mirror

Chapter 1 - Mirror

"Harry!" Hagrid beamed at him from the doorway, as massive as always. "Come in, come in!"

Harry did exactly so, stepping into the extremely familiar cabin in which Hagrid had lived for more than six decades. It was as pleasant an experience as it always was; the cabin was warmer than the chill, late autumn air outside, and it smelled, surprisingly pleasantly, of a kind of stew.

At Hagrid's request, Harry sat down, and agreed to a cup of tea. "Can't stay long," he sighed. "I have a pile of essays on Defensive Spells from the fourth year students to grade. A nightmare, truly."

"Yeh'll get used to it," said Hagrid gruffly. "Here yeh go, a nice cuppa."

Harry gratefully accepted the tea, but only held it, for the time being. "How've you been, Hagrid? I haven't had time to really talk to anyone at all over the last few weeks."

"I can imagine," Hagrid said. "I remember me firs' term… And yer on'y in yer second year teachin', Harry, don' forget that."

Harry could also recall Hagrid's first term, and quite vividly. But Harry wasn't dealing with the Ministry – he was just… restless. "The pumpkins look good," Harry prompted, not daring to pursue that particular thought further.

"Yeh, I think they jus' migh' be the bigges' I've ever grown," Hagrid replied cheerfully, and for the next fifteen minutes the conversation continued in this vein, Hagrid doing most of the talking, with occasional one word replies supplied by Harry. At last, however, Harry sighed regretfully and said that he really had to leave, now; the pile of parchment on his desk was taunting him, and in the back of his mind a voice, which sounded remarkably like Hermione, was reminding him to never leave anything to the last minute. For once in his life, he decided to listen to that voice and, regretfully, left the warmth of Hagrid's cabin in favor of making the trek back up to the castle. He passed the greenhouses on the way up, but Neville was nowhere to be seen – Harry looked at his watch and realized that dinner had already begun. He decided he wasn't hungry enough to brave seeing Malfoy again, and besides, he had some food in his kitchenette, and so, as he entered the castle, he turned away from the Great Hall and made his way a couple flights of stairs, down a corridor, around a corner, and then found himself face to face with none other than Draco Malfoy himself.

Harry froze, staring.

He looked… healthy. He was wearing a handsome set of robes, a dark shade of blue that suited his pale complexion; Harry remembered the sickly, greenish tone it had turned during their sixth year, and couldn't help but notice how favorably the man who stood before him now compared to the young wizard he had basically stalked then. This was the first time they had been in such close proximity since the trials, when they had all – Harry himself included – been recovering from a year of tyranny. His shoulders and chest were both wider than they had been when they were both teenagers, and he held himself in a way that spoke of self-assuredness that Harry would never have. His hair was longer than Harry's own, and cut in decidedly different style than the oddly handsome bowl-cut he had had seven years ago. Harry panicked, his throat suddenly extremely try; he couldn't decide what to say, and ended up blurting the first thing that came to mind: "Nice robes, Malfoy."

Malfoy blinked, apparently just as bewildered by what Harry had said as he himself was; _Nice robes?_ Harry thought bitterly. What a great way to start a conversation. He wouldn't be surprised if Malfoy took it as a sarcastic comment.

Harry was surprised, however, to hear him respond, in a quite sincere – and reserved, in a quiet way – tone, "Thank you."

Harry nodded, and that seemed to break the trance they had both been in; Harry found himself suddenly able to move again. As he and Draco passed each other moments later, however, Harry could've sworn he heard Malfoy inhale sharply as they accidentally grazed each other's shoulders, as if Harry's mere touch, mere proximity, caused him pain.

Harry couldn't help it; he glanced at back at Malfoy, who was steadily walking away from him. Perhaps he had imagined it.

 _Or perhaps,_ Harry thought bitterly, _he didn't take it well at all._

* * *

His heart was racing.

 _Stupid_ , he thought. _I'm so stupid_.

What had he been thinking? How could he possibly survive this year with Potter opposite him, besting him at every opportunity yet again?

It was as if they were doomed to mirror each other, as if one is always carefully examining the other to make sure he was doing the exact opposite. _What an infuriating man,_ he thought, taking the steps up to his rooms two steps at a time. _He was infuriating when I met him, and he is somehow even worse now. The way he looked at me_ -

He didn't want to think about it. He _wouldn't_ think about it. The way his pulse immediately began racing, an old, familiar reaction to an old, familiar rival…

The door slammed behind him. He had not realized he had already made it back to his rooms.

At this moment, he regretted every decision he had made in his life that led him to this moment, to this place, to this job. He thought -

He thought he could finally get away. He thought he could avoid Potter. He thought, for some foolish reason, that it would be different this time. _Life goes around in circles,_ he thought bitterly. _It repeats itself, ensuring it'll repeat itself again later._

No matter what he wishes he had done different, however, he was here now, and he had to calm down. He would wash his face, and he would breathe, and he'd change his clothing into something Potter hadn't touched, so his skin wouldn't feel like it's on fire. Maybe he would even take a shower.

His bathroom was simple, yet elegant. He'd been given the opportunity, before the school year had begun, to make any adjustments to these rooms he had been assigned, but he'd elected to make very few. The bedroom remained as bare now as it was a month ago, in neutral off-white and brown colors; the sitting room/kitchenette now had a smattering of books lying about, but nothing precious or even really good, mostly potion books and dictionaries and a cooking book, and there was a half eaten green apple from earlier he had left on the counter, the flesh of it now a dark, sickening brown. The bathroom, however, had been subtly redecorated. Where previously there had been emerald green, there was now a warm, light orange. The silver, now black. The shape of it had stayed the same, but the meaning behind it...

They probably assumed he'd be glad to be in his house colors. Most people did not know that Draco had destroyed every single green item he owned, burning his own clothing, smashing heirlooms. Most people did not notice that he never wore green or silver anymore, that he preferred neutral or warm tones, that he had tried his very best to leave everything he had ever believed in behind him.

Two minutes with Potter screwed with that, and royally so.

He felt as if time slowed down as he stumbled into his bathroom, feeling almost drunk with rage. Slowly, he turned the handle, and water poured into the sink; he didn't know how long he stared at it before, finally, sticking his hands in, bringing the water up towards his face.

Then, slowly, he raised his head and met his own gaze in the mirror.

For a while, after the War, he'd grown sickly. The trials ensured that, beating on his body and soul alike. He felt as if he was being eaten alive. Dementors were no longer as popular as they used to be, but it took a very long time to get them out of Azkaban.

He was lucky. He wasn't there for very long.

His face had grown thin then, along with his entire body. He looked like a walking skeleton, with his thin, almost translucent skin, and those sinking gray eyes. He couldn't eat for a long time even after the trials. It made him sick. For weeks after his pardon he sat in bed, the last words of the trial repeating themselves in his head:

"For many of the people we have tried since the War, there was a choice. Many of them had been children during the last War, barely even old enough to Apparate. But now, they were adults. They had the presence of mind, the maturity to make their choices.

"But this child, like many others, had never had a choice. He was raised in a home where murderers, such as Bellatrix Lestrange, were the accepted members of the family. He lived with He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named himself, and only he himself can know what kind of pressure that placed on him.

"We cannot blame him for the path his life took, because none of us here can possibly know that we would have not followed the exact same path had we been in the same circumstances.

"Choices made when there is no choice are no choices at all."

And then he'd been acquitted. And then he'd been home. And then, so many days later he had lost count, he had gotten out of bed and began looking for his will to live.

That's what he'd called it, secretly. Other people had other names for it. The newspapers cried Ex-Death Eater Goes Free. His parents congratulated him for rebuilding his life. His friends… Whatever friendship they had was lost in the War, or otherwise drowned in a bottle with the rest of their sorrows.

They were all too aware that they had not, in fact, been helpless.

Later, when his face looked healthy, if older than it should, he went looking for work. But it turns out that an ex-Death Eater, even one that had been acquitted on all charges, was not a popular man in today's Wizarding World. If anything, the only reason he wasn't outright put out on the street and burned on the pyre was because he was a Malfoy, and even after the war, after the trials, after the ministry seized so much of their property and funds, the Malfoys were still incredibly rich. In fact, if Draco had wanted to sit in bed for the rest of his life, he would have had the funds to do so.

But he needed… something. Something to do. He couldn't stand his childhood home, and he didn't want his ancestors' money. He wanted something of his own. Something tangible. Something untainted.

And he was sick of the way people's eyes were always on him, as if he was going to take out his wand and attack the nearest Muggleborn. He may not have been front page material anymore, but he was still Draco Malfoy, the boy who…

Well.

The young man in the mirror was nothing like the boy who strutted into Hogwarts on September 1st, 1991. That boy had been arrogant, immature, selfish, convinced the world would bow to him; instead, the world spent the next decade teaching him how wrong he was. About everything.

His knuckles were bleeding, and as he looked at his clenched fist he suddenly saw glass everywhere. He couldn't remember anything breaking, but when his gaze met his own again, he realized that the large mirror had been reduced to one thin sliver, just wide enough to catch his gaze.

"Reparo," he muttered, pointing his wand at it; he didn't look at it again.

* * *

 **A/N:** Do you like it?

School started, and I'm a bit busy, so updates are going to be as slow as... well, the updates were on OTT. Well, maybe not that slow. But y'know, they're not going to be every week. Although I'm trying to write a little bit more, in honor of NaNo (as usual, I am too busy and tired to participate).

Let me know your thoughts!

JustGail


	3. Halloween

Chapter 2 – Halloween

September and October passed far quicker than Harry could have possibly imagined; his first year, they seemed to drag on forever as he got used to his new job. He had enjoyed teaching immensely as a fifth year, and still enjoyed it now, but it was rather different being the head of secret rebellious society and a proper teacher. He had many more responsibilities now, for one, and he missed his friends, who had been by his side for a decade and a half already. It was odd being at Hogwarts without Ron and Hermione, and he found himself, during those first couple of months, missing them every day. He had Neville and Hagrid, of course, and this made the transition immensely easier. And eventually, he got used to his new life back at Hogwarts, his first real home, his new home, and he got used to visiting his friends only occasionally, on the weekends and at times during the holidays; Ron and Hermione more often than Ginny or Luna or the rest of the Weasleys. He visited his godson as regularly as possible, as well, and enjoyed every moment with Teddy thoroughly. Before he knew it, an entire year had passed, and his return to Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place for the summer was surprisingly bittersweet.

This new year, however, did not have the slower pace the previous year had started with, but instead jumped straight into the immense speed with which the time had passed during the second term of the previous year. He mostly managed to avoid Malfoy, never being alone in a room with him except for that one awkward encounter at the beginning of October. By the time Halloween arrived, Harry had gotten used to Malfoy's constant presence – at least, for the most part. At times he could swear he felt his gaze on him, causing his entire body to feel prickly; but whenever he turned to match his gaze, he found Malfoy deeply engaged in conversation with another teacher, or grading papers in the staff room, or focused on eating his meal, no sign at all that he had even glanced in Harry's direction.

The morning of Halloween passed pleasantly, and he spent most of it going over material they had already studied, to give the students – and himself – a brief break. The feast was wonderful, of course, Hagrid's pumpkins looking particularly fantastic. At the end of it, however, full to the brim and having thoroughly enjoyed himself, he realized he had left the fourth year Gryffindor students' homework in the staff room, and although he was already halfway to his rooms, he retraced his steps and made his way there, instead.

The staff room, a warm room with a kitchenette, a large table, and several comfortable chairs, was one of his favorite places in the school, now that he had the right to spend time in it. He honestly preferred to spend time in here, conversing with Neville over a cup of tea, than be in his office or room. He was even sort of looking forward to going there right now, no matter how short the visit was going to be.

The room was empty when he arrived, as was to be expected with the feast only just over. He spotted his students' essays on a coffee table at the opposite end of the room, but, instead of leaving after picking them up, he decided he fancied a cup of tea, and decided to make one before making his way to his rooms.

He was in the middle of making said cup of tea when he heard the door open and close behind him. He turned around, expecting maybe Neville or Professor Engram, who were as frequent visitors as he was; the "hello" he had begun saying died on his lips at the sight of none other than Malfoy.

Malfoy looked disheveled, like he had run here; Harry had to admit to himself that it was kind of attractive – that _he_ was kind of attractive, especially now that they were no longer teenagers. Malfoy was never exactly _lanky_ , but as he had realized earlier in the year, his shoulders had certainly filled outl just past his 26th birthday. He currently wore his long hair done up in a high ponytail, but some of his hair had fallen out, presumably on the way to the staff room, and it framed his face nicely, softening his features somewhat.

"I'm just here to get some parchments," Malfoy blurted, and it sounded to Harry like an odd excuse, considering he, too, was only in the staff room to get papers, and yet he had not run here – he hadn't even walked in a particularly quick pace. Well, he supposed it wasn't his concern, and he nodded, sipping on his tea, watching as Malfoy searched the room for his parchments. He finally seemed to find them under a transfiguration book Harry was pretty sure Neville had borrowed from Professor McGonagall – _Minerva, it's Minerva_ (Harry still had trouble with the concept, despite being her colleague for more than a year now). He swiped them up quickly and stuffed them in an inside pocket of his robe, and Harry noticed that the pile was rather thin – only a few pieces, five or six at most. Maybe it was essays from his N.E.W.T. classes. Harry didn't know what minimum grade Malfoy demanded from his post O.W.L. students – Harry himself only accepted Es and Os, but he wouldn't be surprised if Malfoy was even stricter and only accepted O-level students.

"Right," Malfoy said after a few moments of silence. Harry realized he'd been staring – and oddly, Malfoy had been staring back. "Well. Good night."

"Good night," Harry replied lamely. "Happy Halloween."

As if echoing Harry's earlier actions, Malfoy nodded in response, then, wordlessly, turned around and exited the staff room.

Harry's tea had gone cold. He Vanished it.

* * *

 _Thank Merlin,_ Draco thought to himself as he patted his chest to make sure the parchment was still in his pocket. _And thank Longbottom for reminding me of the letter. And pointing out Potter was also on his way to the staff room._

Draco snorted. Who would've thought a decade ago that he would be thankful for Neville Longbottom (who had been in the staff room that morning when he received his correspondence), of all people. Or that he would be so desperate to hide his mail from Harry Potter, for that matter.

 _Dear Draco,_ the letter said. _I do not think you should avoid Potter. It isn't healthy._

Freaking Daphne Greengrass and her freaking terrible advice. As if she had any real influence on his decisions.

The only thing keeping him _sane_ was staying away from Potter. And he would certainly state that in his reply.

Daphne had no idea what she was talking about.

* * *

 **A/N:** a short one, but it looks like this slow burn will indeed be slightly faster than OTT. That said, they have quite a ways to go before they can even become friends, let alone boyfriends.

Love,

JustGail


End file.
